


Bitty Bat

by kikibug13



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Short, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DCU and DCnU pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Collection of Damian-centric drabbles and ficlets is a go.

“ _I gave up everything!_ ” 

But there were more words, and Drake and _Grayson_ were just standing there, looking, and the blame Father put on him cut through his stomach like a sword. Damian pushed past Todd and disappeared in the direction of the Manor, to his own room. He shut the door, shuddering, cheeks wet for the first time without physical wound.

He let Titus in when the whining got too much. (He’d _trusted_ them…) The open door let voices in. “He’s just a kid, Bruce!”

Titus’s bark was the only sound seeing him off as he left that life.


	2. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin Wilkes only catches a glimpse on the news, but a glimpse is more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shobogan](archiveofourown.org/users/shobogan) made herself - and me - sad with one not-bat friend Damian had learning the news. So he had to.

Kit was flipping through the channels of the battered donated TV and Colin was not even half paying attention until a sweep of black cape caught his eye, and then something red and black and green broken on the ground. He yelled at Kit to stop, hold on for a moment, but she shouted back he should get in line for the remote, but she'd still long enough to see that Robin wasn't moving. At all.

And he wasn't up for arguing.

He ran out of the common room, instead, his vision already blurring. 

The way to the garage _Damian_ had given to him was too familiar by now, and he didn't actually _see_ anything in front of him until he felt his fingers running along the smooth metal of the bike. He blinked the tears away and sniffled, and had to clench his other hand to keep himself from _changing_ , from becoming Abuse and crushing the useful machinery because, _what_?

How was Robin dead?

Colin was crying and angry and he wanted to _break_ things, preferably people. Best of all, whoever had made that huge _hole_ in his friend's chest. 

All he could think of were the bright blue eyes through the clotting double-line of blood across his face, so full of fire and of life and of determination. So sure of himself. What Damian had _done_ with that sword, taking on somebody with probably _decades_ more experience with blades down and still controlling everything, somehow. 

Of the brightly-clad boy who'd found himself in a cold warehouse full of children's corpses and yelled and then turned around and thrown up, because that was sick and always would be.

There was nobody Colin could talk with about it, either. It had been just them. Sometimes, when Batman was letting his leash a little loose, Robin had come in and they'd beaten up crooks in the middle of the night, since. Colin knew just how scathing Damian's words could be, how much they could hurt and how sometimes, just sometimes, he had started to feel upset - angry, in his own fashion - when he realized he'd actually done damage. The way he could own any sort of weapon he had - or that fell into his hands. 

It hadn't been enough. 

Colin didn't know what it had taken, and he had nobody to ask - the Batman now was not the same Batman as then. The landline phone Damian had given him had been going unanswered for many weeks. Maybe if he called Damian's cell phone, he'd get some answered, though not many.

The news just wouldn't have the actual story. They couldn't. Either for Robin or for the Wayne heir. 

But all of that paled because Damian was _gone_. There would be no more slight shadow to make people even more afraid of Abuse. No more dark-haired, blue-eyed boy that would snubbily get them into a movie they weren't supposed to watch yet because Colin asked. No more sneaking to him mods for the bike, or extra food, or just talking. No more finding out about strange lands and strange customs and thinking of all the blood people shed in other places of the world. 

No more.

The little bright intense bird would fly no more.

Colin was punching the wall now, hard, sharp, but as himself, not letting himself change. He _wanted_ to feel the pain. He wanted to feel the pain the booted toes made when they were sparring and Damian's kick connected, but that was not possible, so his knuckles getting bloody and bruised was at least something. 

_Maybe... maybe if I go on the bike and ride as hard as it will go and go into a wall..._

Somewhere in the back of his head, he could swear he heard a quiet _Tt. Your body would just recover. Besides, that is not what you should be doing._ Colin wailed in the echoing garage. 

"Then _what_ ," his voice finally managed to take shape, but there was no answer.

There was never going to _be_ an answer. 

Only silence. 

That didn't use to be a problem. That was all he had, the orphanage with all the cries and all the admonishing from the nuns, and the streets with their silence. Before Abuse, too, but even more, since that.

It wasn't the same, now that he had known something else. The sarcastic voice. The flight, with yellow cape too-bright and visible. The sharp laugh that was barely a laugh at all, except it was close. The stunning intelligence that would even get adults to take notice. The flash of blades in the lite of a guttering streetlight. 

Never again.

Colin Wilkes finally fell to his knees by the wall he hadn't even dented, and wept.


	3. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lifeless and still may not mean dead _yet_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fix-it fic for nU Batman, Inc. #8. Sort of.

Bruce knelt, cradling the body, and only vaguely aware of anything but the fact that it was another son of his who'd been lost. Because of what he'd done. The sword wound was blooming large and bright against the red tunic, blood still flowing, so much blood. 

Bruce was _vaguely_ aware of other things around him. The girl - receptionist, holding the cursed box. The gurgling breaths of the _other_ version of his son, the bigger, younger, one. He'd spent so long afraid Damian was Cain, and here he was, Abel. Not blameless or innocent, but trying to be faithful and slain by the hand of his own brother. Maybe he should help the clone. Get him medical assistance. 

He couldn't.

Vaguer yet, he registered the moment when Dick finally stirred, with a groan... then a cry. He hesitated by the large prone body, but only an instant, then dropped on his knees by Bruce, a small piece of glass partway stuck in his thigh in Bruce's field of vision as he reached to touch Da--

Damian.

Bruce's gauntlets tightened around the child's body, but Dick wasn't trying to take him away. Only touching, head bowed, sobbing.

Then that hiccupped.

"There's pulse."

Bruce Wayne's world tilted for the second time in two minutes.

\----------------

Damian had lost a lot of blood. More than he should have and survived, but maybe there was _some_ thing good that came out of all that training. His body had gotten used to deeper meditative states, and, when assaulted, had slowed down his breathing and pulse. Not much. Another minute or two of ignorance and he would have slipped away. 

But enough.

The wound was staunched, Dick's rebreather getting fitted into a makeshift oxygen mask even as he was doing that. Alfred alerted, and Bruce knew the cave would be ready.

Speed limits - ground _or_ air - did not exist on their way back to the cave.

"Bleed me till I'm _dry_ if you have to, Alfred--"

"That would not be necessary, Master Bruce." Alfred's voice was brittle, but he was completely focused on the task he had. No deviation for whatever thoughts were running in his head. His lips were trembling but his hands were absolutely steady. "Lie back."

Dick, Dick had gone completely silent, but he almost seemed to take commands from the butler telepathically. Bruce was vaguely aware of other voices coming on his comm. When the red line was moving steadily from his vein to the boy's, Alfred and Dick concentrated and him not having to do anything _but_ give blood, he finally answered them. The others. 

Jason. Barbara. Tim. 

"He's alive. For now. We're trying to keep that."

Their reactions were different. But they quieted. That was good, Bruce wanted to focus on what was happening in front of him.

\-------------------------

Dick Grayson stared at the blank, empty eyes of his littlest brother. It broke his heart, but he never missed a day, coming back to watch over him for a few hours. Talk to him. Read to him. Hold him. Damian submitted, or, rather, didn't fight. 

His brain was not waking up, though. Six weeks later, 'waking coma' was all they had. No progress. 

Dick didn't give up. He couldn't. 

But he didn't know how to cope with this, either.

\---------------------------

The flatline wailed through the cave. None of the three exhausted men, crying over the body of a ten-year-old, had it in them to turn it off.

\---------------------------

"Hnnh..." 

Dick lurched forward and Bruce half-sat on the cot beside them. There was a clatter of porcelain through the intercom which had been left open.

"Damian!"

"Yes." The voice was raspy, muffled by the mask, and the word was slow and deliberate. Neither of the men could think of anything to _say_ , the relief too much to make any sense of actual words, so it was the boy who spoke again. "Did we... win?"

"Yeah, yeah, we did, D. You did well. It's all right."

"You did well," Bruce's quiet addition made Damian squeeze his eyes, then relax, even through the pain. 

After a moment came another question. 

"... twin?"

Dick felt like a cold blade had slashed through _his_ gut. After the look with which he had dismissed the Heretic possibly breathing his last, he hadn't really thought about the insane clone that mad woman had produced in her abhorrent ways."

Bruce had more information, though. "Under medical care. There are a lot of drugs in his system."

Damian coughed. It may have been some sort of a laugh. 

"Don't... let her... take him again."

"All right, Damian. We won't."

Dick squeezed the tiny hand... and his brother was out like a light again. But his breathing was steady, his heartbeat going. He looked over at Bruce, then started suiting up again.

"Let me know if there's any change, okay?"

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."


End file.
